Last week, the commander in chief of the US military, President George W. Bush, made the following comments to troops in Afghanistan about the War on Terror:

I must say, I'm a little envious. If I were slightly younger and not employed here, I think it would be a fantastic experience to be on the front lines of helping this young democracy succeed. It must be exciting for you… in some ways romantic, in some ways, you know, confronting danger. You're really making history, and thanks.

For the naïve, war is romantic. It’s killing the bad guys, getting that perfect scar, dying heroically, being loved by beautiful women- all envisioned on celluloid, magazine covers, and stone walls. It takes a certain kind of person to want to be a warrior- someone who frames himself in this romanticism but also understands that it is false.


Being in a war is different than daydreaming about it. I wasn’t charging up Mount Suribachi like my great uncle had, shrugging off gunshot wounds- instead I found myself sitting in the front seat of a Humvee with a radio in my ear and a rifle across my lap, waiting for the truck to explode, considering how the closest I had come to combat was cajoling my CO to let me run convoys where I’d never get to shoot till someone shot at me first- if I died it would be without any of the glory.

The hospital I delivered fuel to that day was a bullet-riddled mess (I had missed the action) and the lot behind it was strewn with medical waste. Across the Euphrates River, a minaret made a perfect sniping position or better yet, observation post to direct enemy forces. The hospital had an incredibly narrow serpentine entrance and the trucks had barely made it in. Were we being set up for an ambush by a crack Mujahideen unit? What was I doing here? A little romantic.


Walking across Camp Fallujah, two of our Staff NCOs were hit by rocket shrapnel and nearly bled to death. When I went to get a new ammo pouch, I was given one that had belonged to one of those Marines- it was stained with some of that blood. When I saw him months later he looked like he had aged 10 years and I had to shake his hand delicately- it was still healing.

Twice on my deployment, Marines took their weapons and shot themselves in the head. I don’t know why they did that. One Marine operating a bulldozer under fire accidentally drove his machine into a marsh that gave way. While he drowned, another Marine dived in to save him. He drowned too. A 19-year old kid was blown up trying to destroy a weapons cache. Another bled to death after being shot. Two more were blown up by an IED. One of my mentees was killed by a suicide bomber; one of my classmates bled out in plain sight while his platoon was kept away by enemy fire. Still romantic?


We had a big welcome home on the parade deck, but within minutes of being home I was depressed- guilt and insecurity about my war experience have consumed me ever since, wrecking my relationship with the woman of my dreams and souring every career opportunity with disinterest. Anti-romantic.


I’ve long been skeptical of this administration and their seemingly insatiable appetite to play war. I wonder if this tendency would be tempered if any of them had served in war. President Bush says if he were a little younger he’d like to serve on the front lines. I don’t understand then, why he didn’t serve in Vietnam- a war that would have provided a similar experience.

Perhaps it’s romantic from a distance or in certain people’s heads, but I can tell you, when you’re waving the port-a-john flies out of your mouth, cringing at every roadside pile of garbage, or spending sleepless nights at home alone, there’s nothing romantic about it. This is the business of death. Message to observer: get a goddamn clue.


Further Reading: Slate NY Times: Afghanistan